Flowers in the Meadow
by TheWriterWhoWaited
Summary: Katniss and Peeta's daughter sits in the meadow one day reminiscing about growing up in Panem years after the rebellion and learning the affect it had on not only her and her family but others around her.


**I recently seen Mockingjay and reread the books and the idea came up to write this little one-shot in Katniss and Peeta's daughter's point of view. I hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the Hunger Games nor do I own it's characters. The Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins and Lionsgate.**

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><p><strong>Flowers in the Meadow <strong>

I use to dance around the meadow not thinking of what lies underneath the flowers with my little brother. The tall grass would scratch my skin as I run along, picking up flowers and inhaling their scent.

That was before I learned what happened here years ago in school. Before I learned part of the reason why my mother and father have nightmares almost every night.

I was horrified, hearing what happened through the rebellion and all the people that died. Some of them my parents and family were close to. On the bookshelf in the study in my house lies a book that my mother use to show me filled with the pictures of people. I use to ask where they were and if they are happy.

She would reply, "There are in a safe place and as happy as ever," while patting my hair and smoothing down my two blonde braids. I would always catch something flash across her eyes when I gave her a reassuring smile. Despite how positive she tried to make everything seem, flipping through the book, telling my brother and I the best qualities of the deceased people smiling back at us in the drawings and photographs, I knew otherwise. There is a dark history that lies under the new green grass within Panem. If I knew the whole truth I too would have nightmares.

I never knew the details of how they all died, but now that I do, I wish I didn't. I wish I kept the image of them surrounded by their loved ones slipping peacefully off into the other side. Not having the images of the people in the pictures I saw be filled with blood and torture.

Often I would catch my mother staring at me longingly with a distant look in her eye. I asked a well known customer in my family's bakery about it when I was six and they replied, "It could be memories resurfacing. The rebellion had instilled a deep mark on your parents."

Her words angered me because it's what I always heard. I knew my parents were scarred and damaged from their past. I didn't need a reminder. I had to live with it my whole life, they didn't.

I shouted at the customer, grabbing the attention of my father and brother in the other room. My father ended up having to pick me up and carry me out of the bakery entirely because I was too stubborn and furious to move.

The residents within District 12 began whispering and talking about us. While in town, my mother overheard how not only were the couple mental, but so was their children. She came home in a rage and stormed upstairs to her and my father's room, locking the door behind her. I crept up after her once the shock was over and heard sobs coming from the other side of the door.

In school after the history of the Hunger Games were taught, the kids began talking to. I tried my best to ignore them and pull my little brother out of fights whenever some kid has the nerve to say anything to our faces. No matter how much I want to tackle them too, I know I have to be a good role model for my brother and walk away.

As I grew older, everything settled down again. Once a year there is a remembrance day held in the Districts square, respecting all those who died for the cause and in the games. I cried for a couple of years during it when I was old enough to attend and was not stuck at home with a close family friend or somebody else who can't stand to be in the square during the remembrance.

Now I sit here gazing out into the meadow, watching the Mockingjays soar above me and whistle a tune into the air. I wonder what life would be like for my children when I have them. Would they have to live with the whispering and terrible scars too? Of course they would have to. They would be the grandchildren of the last two Victors from the last two Hunger Games.

Deep down inside I wish they won't have to.


End file.
